


Pupsik

by isamariposa



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Dogs, Gen, M/M, Pets, Pre-Slash, if you squint;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 17:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isamariposa/pseuds/isamariposa
Summary: Boris has been avoiding to sign the order to exterminate the stray pets. Valery clumsily tries to find out why, and learns more about his past.
Relationships: Valery Legasov & Boris Shcherbina, Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	Pupsik

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwinny3k (lesshoney)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesshoney/gifts).

> I tried to write something light-hearted but the angst crept in.
> 
> Pupsik ≈ little doll, baby, sweetheart
> 
> For gwinny3k - thanks for the inspiration, the idea and the writing unblock! And thank you kriegskrieg again for discussing some plot points.

* * *

At first Valery assumed it was a simple oversight. The pile of papers on the desk in their headquarters office was at least twenty centimeters tall, and though Boris was very efficient at having a quick glance at a document and stamping his signature at the foot of it, more papers appeared several times a day, each one more urgent than the last and requiring his full attention. So something that was in the middle of the queue could naturally find itself at the bottom again at a moment's notice, and the order would not be signed. One time, the request for more respirators nearly disappeared until Valery reminded him of it.

But weeks had passed. And Boris wouldn't sign it.

This was deliberate, Valery realized. He was reasonably certain that he'd seen Boris staring at the order with a blank look on his face and tossing it aside to continue with the pile. And meanwhile, the strays still roamed in the streets in a pitiful state, lost without their owners, skinnier every day. Boris had taken the habit to feed some of the dogs wandering near the Polissya, but it was becoming untenable: lured by the promise of food, more and more dogs came closer every day, replacing those who disappeared, likely to die. Valery didn't know where the food came from. He suspected they were army rations. 

He shook his head and took a deep breath. This could not go on like this.

"Boris," he told him. "Why haven't you signed the order? We must get rid of the strays as soon as possible."

Boris stopped writing and glanced up at him from the desk to glare at him.

"I'll sign it when I get to it," he said. The pen resumed its scratching on the paper.

"Maybe get to it faster? This is a serious health hazard."

"Don't you think I know that?" Boris snarled, and Valery flinched a little at his outburst. "I don't recall making you my secretary. I'll sign it when I get to it."

Valery knew that tone. He was not in the mood for a row, so he considered turning around and leaving the office. He stood, but instead of turning away from Boris he took a step forward. He might not be a secretary, but he was certainly in charge of prioritizing clean-up tasks. Valery grabbed the pile of papers from Boris's desk and began sifting through it.

"What are you doing!" Boris barked, his face red with anger. "Put that down. Put that down right now!"

Valery ignored him. He didn't have to look long. There it was: the order for the Army to begin exterminating any animals they came across, including pets. A ghastly business. Valery was aware of how monstrous it sounded on an intellectual level, but he forced himself not to mind that as he laid the document in front of Boris. They'd given far more sinister orders than that. Orders involving men who'd lost their good health, perhaps forever. If Valery stopped to think, he'd never get out of bed in the mornings.

"Please sign this," he said, incapable of keeping the annoyance from his tone. "We can't delay it any longer."

"I'll sign it when I get to it!"

Valery thought they were past the initial antagonism between them, but Boris glared at him with such venom that he feared that any progress in their uneasy friendship was lost just then. It shocked him how much it hurt. He pursed his lips.

"It's right there in front of you. Please sign it," he repeated. "All it needs is your name to get it started."

"Do you imagine you can strong-arm me into this?"

"I'm not trying to strong-arm you, I'm just trying to get you to sign the bloody thing! What's this really about? Why won't you sign it?"

Boris's glare grew more smouldering, and for one moment Valery was certain he'd stand up, knocking his chair down, and that he'd shout at him. He took a step back. But Boris remained sitting, his face still red with anger, but making a very visible effort to rein his temper in. Something else crossed his gaze, something akin to pain, so raw and vivid that Valery felt compelled to apologize at once. Instead, he stared at him, mesmerized, wondering what would happen. Unable to walk away.

In the end, Boris slid the document closer to him so briskly the paper crumpled at the edges, and he signed his name at the bottom of it, an angry scrawl that made the tip of the pen hiss in protest. Then Boris did stand, though his chair was not knocked down. Valery took another step back, watching him with alarm as he neared him. 

"Here's your order," Boris said, and his voice sounded wavering, uncertain. He pressed the paper flat against Valery's chest with just enough force to make him stagger a little. He walked past him and slammed the door of the makeshift office, leaving Valery too stunned to react for a long moment. 

He'd been an oaf again, hadn't he. This was obviously something that was bothering Boris on a personal level, and Valery had just barreled through him. He ran a hand through his hair.

He placed the order down back on the desk and ran to the door to see where Boris had gone. But by the time he stepped outside, blinking because of the setting sun, he saw the dust of a military vehicle driving away. Boris requisitioned it, no doubt. It left Valery stranded momentarily, until the driver returned, or another one was sent to replace him. 

Shit.

  


* * *

Night had already fallen by the time Valery made it back to the Polissya. The strays were eating something in the courtyard, so Boris had fed them, perhaps for the last time. He thought of looking for him, but cowardly decided to go to his own room instead. Once inside, his back pressed against the closed door, Valery knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he at least offered an apology. But he still made his way to the shower and cleaned himself methodically, soaping every inch of his body and all of his hair as he did every day in the vain hope of clearing any lingering dust before he slipped into bed. 

But he did not go to bed: Valery put on an undershirt and clean trousers and armed himself with enough courage to make his way to Boris's room, barefoot. He knocked four times, as was their custom. Nothing. Not a sound in the room. Boris wasn't there. Or he was there, and didn't want to see Valery. Understandably, maybe. Dejected, he tried one more time before turning around. He was on his way back to his room when the door swung open. Boris looked out to the hallway, a bottle of vodka in his hand. He hadn't undressed for the day, still in his shirt and tie.

"Valery!" he said, blinking. "What happened?"

His voice was a little slurred. Valery took a deep breath and made his way back to the door.

"Sorry," he said. "I was out of line earlier, I wanted to apologize."

Boris stared at him and then chuckled. His breath smelled of vodka.

"No matter. I was being a sentimental fool." He raised the bottle, tipping it towards Valery. "Come in?"

"I... I, I don't think it's a good idea," Valery said, thinking of the likelihood of their rooms being monitored.

"Nonsense," Boris said, and grabbed him by the shoulder to drag him inside.

Was he drunk? Not that much time had passed between their argument and this moment. Perhaps an hour? Two? Enough to get a little tipsy, Valery decided. Boris sank down on the lone armchair of the room, and short of making his way to the desk where they worked sometimes, it left Valery nowhere to sit but on the bed. He sat down, a little stiffly, noting the bedding was perfectly made. He stared down at his hands.

"I really _ am _ sorry," he said again. "I should know when to stop."

Boris took a swing from the bottle and waved his hand in dismissal. "You were right to insist."

"Was I?"

"Well I hope you were, after all the fuss you made!"

"I don't know," Valery said. He swallowed, feeling very much like this was one of those moments where he should hold his tongue and let it go. Instead, he asked, "Why did you get angry at me?"

Boris shook his head. "I wasn't angry at you."

"No?"

"No."

Boris said nothing else. Valery bit back the _ 'Then what was that about?' _ that threatened to slip from his lips. It didn't really matter, he supposed. As long as Boris was still willing to be civil. To be friends. To work together. Valery took off his glasses and wiped them with the hem of his undershirt. His wet hair was dripping down a little, leaving droplets on the crystals.

"Use one of my towels," Boris said. 

The offer was odd, but Valery appreciated it: he didn't fancy wiping his glasses constantly. He should have dried his hair better. He stood and made his way to the bathroom, but hesitated before flicking on the light, aware that this would be far more intimate than anything they'd done before. The light was yellow, unpleasant. Valery stepped inside. 

It was just a bathroom.

Boris had a shaving kit on the counter, the razor neatly aligned with his toothbrush and toothpaste. There was also a bottle of cologne, with a name in latin characters. Valery tried not to stare too much and grabbed one of the hand towels. It smelled of the impersonal soap of the hotel. He didn't know why he'd expected it to smell of Boris. Avoiding his own gaze in the mirror, he gave his hair a quick dry to shake off the excess water and nearly jumped when Boris spoke from the door.

"I had a dog a long time ago," he said, sounding thoughtful. He wasn't looking at Valery. He was staring down at the ugly tiling of the bathroom.

"Oh?" Valery said, when he recovered from the surprise of seeing him there. His shoulders were wide enough to block the door, effectively trapping him in there until he saw fit to move.

"Yes," Boris said, and smiled. A sad, absent smile. "Her name was Pupsik."

"Pupsik?!" Valery couldn't help a chuckle. "_ You _ had a dog named Pupsik?"

Boris met his gaze then, steely and wry, as if saying go on, laugh if you dare. Valery glanced away and set the towel down on the counter, biting his lips.

"My daughters chose that name," Boris said, after a long silence. "They also chose the dog. A ridiculous dog, mind you. I didn't even know dogs could look like that. Small and fluffy and yappy. It was a [Papillon Spaniel](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papillon_\(dog\)#/media/File%3ARileyPapillon.JPG), you ever seen one of those?" Valery shook his head, utterly taken aback that this was an actual conversation they were having, in the bathroom of all places. "Don't let the French fool you. She was the most hideous creature you can imagine."

"What happened to her?"

"Oh, she died long ago. More than two decades. This was when my daughters were little."

Valery turned towards him and leaned against the counter. He didn't know Boris had children. He didn't even know whether he was still married. No ring on his hand. They'd never talked about family, or the life they had before the accident. Too painful, maybe.

"They begged and begged for a dog, so I gave in," Boris went on, this time with a truer smile. "So I came home that day expecting to find a normal dog. The kind of sturdy, large dog you'd take on a long walk - not that I'd have the time to, but I still imagined it. Instead, this ugly little thing was waiting for me in the living room. I shouldn't have let them choose the dog without me, but well, there it was."

In trying to avoid eye contact, Valery noticed, for the first time since he came in the room, that Boris wasn't wearing any shoes. His socks were dark, like his trousers. 

"At first, I was angry with Sonya - my wife. For letting them choose something so outlandish. She said if I hated it so much, we could return it, but I'd have to be the one to tell the girls. I almost did. But they were so happy already. I couldn't make myself do it. So the dog stayed."

It was bizarre to imagine Boris as a father, as a husband. This seemed to belong in a universe entirely removed from theirs - one with no government figures breathing down their necks, or nuclear reactors ripping everything to shreds in their wake. What was he like, Valery wondered, perhaps dangerously, with his loved ones? Was he as inflexible, irascible, authoritarian as he'd been this far? Or was there a softer man behind that concrete wall he'd built around himself, a man with his heart on his sleeve who fed stray dogs, and whose gaze could reflect just as much pain and fear as Valery had glimpsed the two times he'd inadvertently hurt his feelings? He shouldn't be as fascinated as he felt just then. He hardly dared to breathe.

"She was fond of me, for some reason. Waited for me at night when I came back from work, wagging her tail. I ignored her at first. You have to understand: my daughters really did treat her like a doll, putting pink ribbons in her ears and nonsense like that. But she won me over, little by little. I couldn't tell you how. But one day I was looking forward to seeing her when I came home. Another day we were playing fetch with a pen I'd dropped. As the years passed, my daughters grew up and the novelty wore off, but Pupsik stayed loyal to me. She was a good dog, in her own ridiculous way."

Boris's voice wavered a little, and Valery looked up at him, alarmed. But he'd composed his face already, and cleared his throat.

"Hm," he said, and went on with his customary gruffness, "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. You don't care about my ramblings, of course."

"I care!" Valery said, with a desperate edge to his voice that stunned him back to silence. It knocked the breath out of him how much he needed to hear this, these stories about the real Boris. Now that he'd had a taste of it, he couldn't bear the thought of not knowing more. "I don't mind," he added, in a steadier tone.

"I just like dogs, that's all," Boris said, wryly. "I wish things hadn't come to this."

"Of course," Valery said. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"I have a cat," he offered, hoping this would be enough to show he cared as well. "Back in Moscow."

Boris flashed him a pained smile. "What's her name?"

"His name. Vaska. A neighbor is looking after him. I... miss him. And at the same time I'm thankful he's nowhere near here."

How surreal to be staring at each other in this cramped bathroom, talking about their pets, living or dead. Valery suddenly wished he had more to say about himself, that there was more he could offer Boris in exchange for this precious bit of information about him. He searched through his memories somewhat frantically - what to say? Talk about the dog they had when he was a child? Talk about his father, growing up under his stifling gaze? Give Boris a glimpse of his quiet, solitary life in Moscow, with only work to break the monotony of his days?

"I have to piss," Boris said, breaking the spell.

"Oh, sorry," Valery mumbled. His face grew very hot.

He made his way to the door, but Boris didn't move from the doorframe. When Valery neared him, he placed a hand on his shoulder. A strong, steady grip. It felt comforting, most of the times, to have someone so firmly grounded in this ghastly place. The fact that he'd allowed himself to share this with Valery made him even more endearing in his eyes.

"Stay," Boris said.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Valery said, again.

"That bottle of vodka isn't going to drink itself."

He let go of him and stepped inside the bathroom to make room for Valery to get out. He scurried away, closing the door behind himself. He didn't want to hear the sound of Boris pissing. But the hotel and the room were quiet enough that it was impossible not to. Embarrassed, Valery considered just going back to his room. On the telephone table, the vodka bottle was half empty. He didn't want Boris to drink it all by himself. From a pragmatic point of view, he needed him sober and alert early in the morning. From a more human point of view, it made him uneasy to imagine Boris alone, thinking of his dog and his children and the life he had before. The armchair was now free, but Valery sat on the bed again. He didn't know why he did that. He heard the toilet flushing, and water running in the sink. A moment later, Boris emerged from the bathroom, undoing his tie.

Valery watched him as he hung his tie in the dresser. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt as well, which made him reconsider having stayed, but Boris wore an undershirt, like him. He grabbed the vodka from the telephone table and handed it to Valery, who stared at it wondering if he was expected to drink straight from the bottle. He didn't have time to ponder it much: Boris lowered himself on the bed, lying next to him quite casually, his feet dangling off. Valery nearly gasped from the shock. He glanced at him, baffled, but Boris looked nonplussed.

"What?" he said. "You don't want to drink?"

Valery took a long swing in response. He needed it. He needed a cigarette, too, but he didn't have any, and Boris didn't smoke. The vodka burned his throat. He passed the bottle back to Boris, who cradled it with the crook of his arm instead of drinking more.

"This fucking place," he muttered, whispered really, wary of any stray microphones. "At least we have each other, eh?"

"Yes," Valery whispered back at once. "Yes, at least."

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
